The Long Nights
by TapesAndRecords
Summary: "I can't sleep." Tony, Ziva. It's those times insomnia finds them that pull them closer together.


**disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**note:** I'm here! It's me! It's literally been 2 months since I last posted something, and though I feel terrible I've had no inspiration. Until a few days ago, Mikey over on Tumblr reblogged a text post with a couple prompts in it, one of which was "I can't sleep." I wrote two things instantly then, after much discussion, ended up with this big thing. Yes, it's over 5K. Which is absolutely giant for me.  
Basically, this covers mainly all the seasons, counting in what I consider to be some of Tony and Ziva's most important developments and storylines, then going AU after Shiva. I also ignored a couple bits of canon if they didn't seemed to fit, but nothing major, I assure you. Every section contains the phrase "I can't sleep." These aren't necessarily my singular headcanons for certain events, it's just what seemed to fit with the themes in the fic. I've come to really like this fic over the past week and a half I've been writing it, and I sincerely hope you lot do too. If you do, feel free to leave me a review, I love hearing what people think.  
My eternal thanks go to Allison, without whom basically this whole fic wouldn't exist. She helped me come up with the structure of it all, she's given me so many ideas, and she's even managed to put up with my incessant messaging about this thing. Thanks a bunch, girl.  
Okay, here goes.

* * *

_The Long Nights._

* * *

"I can't sleep." he says, quietly. It's 3am and he's leaning against her doorframe, eyes heavy but his heart feeling more so.

She shrugs, stepping aside slowly, her movements a little delayed in the haze of exhaustion. Her hair's a mess and she's in short pajamas that ordinarily he'd leer over, but today's not ordinary. Gibbs is on his way to sandy shores with a friend they've never heard of and a space on his hip where a badge should be, and all Tony can feel is emptiness and a weight growing heavier and heavier on his shoulders.

"Did I wake _you_ up?"

Ziva stiffens, and there's something she's not telling him. It's probably the answer to why her eyes were tinged red when she appeared back with their now-former boss, but they all have some secrets they just don't share, so he won't press her. Not tonight.

"No. I tried, but…"

He nods, running a hand through his hair as he tries to gather his thoughts.  
"I don't know what I'm gonna do, Ziva."

"You will be a great leader, Tony."

He pauses, frustration mounting.  
"You don't know that. All I've done at NCIS is work under Gibbs. I don't even know how to do _that _well, let alone _be_ him. How to not screw this all up, how to keep up the job, the coffee, the rules…"

"You do not have to keep everything."  
Her voice is quiet, an almost shy suggestion, and he meets her eyes in question. What he finds there is enough to say that yes, that was what she was implying, and suddenly those short little pajamas are all he can think about.

He reaches for her, and their lips collide, and he might just sleep tonight after all.

* * *

Her eyes drift shut a few times before he says anything. They've been working almost two days straight and even she has a limit, and now, in a warm car, the night thick and dark around them, exhaustion is just about to slip over the horizon right in front of her.

"Y'know, you can catch forty if you want, I'll wake you up if this guy moves."

She'd accept if she knew she'd actually _sleep_. But Tony DiNozzo's got a girlfriend who apparently can't accept that sometimes, he'll have other plans, and his phone keeps vibrating on the dash, call after text after call. He replies occasionally, eyeing the screen fondly or chuckling at whatever anecdote has been shared.  
She wonders idly if he ever talks about her, mentioning something she did or said. She doubts it.

"I am fine. I can't sleep on the job, anyway."  
It's a lie, and a bad one at that, and she's sure he knows it. She yawns despite herself.

His cell buzzes again and a lump rises in her throat, sticking and catching like glue. He smirks, eyes alight in the artificial glow, and she has to fight a sound of irrational resentment from slipping between her teeth.

"Actually, wake me up in an hour if not before. Goodnight." she mutters, eyes closing to avoid thinking any longer about what his stunned expression might mean.

She has no claim to him, not any more, if she ever did at all. All that exists between them now are memories of crumpled sheets and gasps in the moonlight and the feel of his lips upon hers, marking her his.

Her stomach twists in an unfamiliar agony, and she faces away from him a little more. Another buzz of his phone, and she lets sleep claim her.

* * *

"I can't sleep, Ziva, not tonight. You might as well not bother."

His apartment is a mess of boxes and bubble wrap, a thick layer of dust hanging in the air from objects previously untouched for years. Two beers sit on the counter, losing their cool in the summer's day, one almost empty- his- and one barely started- hers.

His former partner doesn't reply, opting instead to walk out of his bedroom with yet another box packed, his bed now cleared.

"Thanks." he mutters a little sarcastically, and she raises a shoulder in acceptance, another thought clearly at the forefront of her mind.

"You do know this is not your fault, yes?"  
Oh, that.

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound, even to his own ears.  
"Yeah good one, Ziva. Except _it is_."

"She made her own choice, Tony, stop blaming yourself for it." She's made her thoughts clear twice already, but now she seems exasperated, angry even, and it lights a fire in his chest that he only wants to add to.

"You wanted to stay with her," he says, speaking quietly despite his rising frustration. "You told me to call her, _you _wanted to listen, Ziva, not me! She made her own choice but _we_ were her detail and I had the final say. And now the team's falling apart, the damn toothpick's in charge and I'm losing you and I—"  
His voice is choked all of a sudden and he can feel a blush rising from the base of his neck.

"It will be fine. _We_ will be fine." she says, voice strong. It surprises him.

He looks up and finds her eyes boring into his, deep, determined, dark with emotion.

"You don't know that."

And then she's right in front of him, her fingers gripping his and her eyes on his lips.

"Neither do you."  
Her words are husky, more a quiet whisper, and they send glorious shivers down his spine, anticipation rising. She pulls him the final distance.

If he only knows one thing, it's that her lips feel perfect against his and she fits so neatly into his arms. God forgive him, he just can't resist her. Not tonight.

* * *

He shifts in bed again. The sheets feel lumpy and the pillow seems thin, and he rolls onto his back with a groan.

"God, this is ridiculous. I'm not gonna sleep. I _can't_ sleep." he mutters to himself, brain fuzzy from a Scotch-too-many and his words only a little slurred. He pulls his legs round and lands them on the floor, pulling himself up to stumble through to the kitchen.

Ziva David is dead, her lungs filled with water and her body lost at sea. He drowns himself most nights in the water of life, as if it'll make any difference.

"Haven't slept in weeks," he mumbles, pulling a glass from his shelf. He fills it straight from the faucet, downing it in one go in an attempt to clear his head. It just makes him feel dizzy as he wonders how the salt water of the sea felt in her throat as it choked her.

It's midnight, and he's gotta sleep, but work doesn't feel right anymore and when he closes his eyes he sees hands clutching helplessly at the ocean, and a dead stare.

He sighs, pulls a beer from the fridge, and sits down on his couch. There'll be something on TV, he's sure.

(8000 miles away, the dust-coated floor is her bed and she spends night after night awake, the ground bruising her back. She can't sleep.)

* * *

The water's running by the time he reaches the showers. Her dirty clothes lie neatly folded upon the bench, an almost-pristine white towel sat directly next to them. The outline of a grimy handprint decorates the clean cotton, a mark of perdition if ever he saw one.

"Ziva?" he says, knowing it's her but trying not to surprise her all the same.

He hears a quiet sound of surprise.  
"Tony. What," she clears her throat, tries again. "What are you doing in here?"

Perching on the bench, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, and speaks to the curtain.  
"There's gonna be a lot of questions. You know that, right? We were only there for recon and to take them out, coming back with someone- coming back with _you_, that wasn't in the plan. That was more than any of us could have hoped for." More than he could have hoped for, but he figures that's a given.

"You got somewhere to stay?" he asks, the thought occurring to him out of nowhere when she doesn't reply. "You should get some sleep-"

"I cannot sleep, Tony. I _will_ not sleep."

He nods, throat tight, though she can't even see it. They shouldn't discuss this now, not when the wounds are so fresh, in a literal sense too. Perhaps when they heal, they can try again.

They stay in silence, and water shuts off eventually and he stands to leave.

"Could you pass me the towel?" she asks, almost a whisper. He can hardly hear what she says over the lingering drips against the tile of the shower, but it's enough to make him stop, turning right around, stunned. That equals proximity, and intimacy, and her body slick with water and suds and lingering marks of her time in the desert. They're definitely not ready for _that_, he knows.

Silence falls over them as he tries to process her request, until the curtain moves a little and he's spurred into action.

"I got it."

He passes it through the small gap she's made and waits, wondering whether she'll ask him to leave or just expect him gone.  
But the curtain pulls back and she meets his eyes, skin clean and tinged a little pink, her hair clinging in dripping strands to her head. His gaze falls down to her chest, where a thin hand clutches the towel tightly, and his eyes widen as he briefly takes her in.

Her bare shoulders and arms alone are littered with little nicks and scars, only shallow ones he's sure will heal and disappear, but it's enough to make his blood boil as he wonders what other wounds there are, the ones he can't see and that won't heal. His fists clench and he sees her flush with embarrassment at his obvious discomfort. Suddenly he wishes he'd left the room altogether.

"Gibbs mentioned a Navy Lodge, I will stay there." she mutters, refusing his earlier silent offer, her shoulders rising in what he knows is faux confidence. He doesn't know why he feels relieved. "In the meantime, Abby said she would get me some clothes, could you go and find her? Please."

The final word seems added as an afterthought, and as she steps out of the cubicle and he moves away, the awkward air descends once more. He nods, turns on his heel, and leaves. He doesn't know if they'll ever feel normal again.

* * *

"I can't sleep."

Dawn is just breaking, streaks of pink and orange inching over the Paris skyline when she bolts upright with a breath. He stirs beside her at the feel of the sheets shifting and her warmth slipping from his side.

"Not well, anyway."

The dust of Somalia still sits heavy in the air; sometimes he's sure he can taste the sand from that god-awful place on his tongue. He's woken up with dreams of truth-filled-needles and cracking bones many a time himself.

"Nightmares?"

She nods, pulling the sheets tighter round her like they give her protection from demons they cannot see. Her arms are puckered with goosebumps, he notices, and he's sure it's not the cool January morning that's the cause.

"Every night, more or less."

His heart sinks a little, and the pale morning light seems to make the circles round her eyes look a little more pronounced; the lingering marks on her skin set a little deeper. He thought she'd been getting better.  
"Ziva, look at me." he whispers, hand rising up slowly to rest on her shoulder. Her eyes lock with his before their skin meets, and he's relieved when she doesn't flinch at his touch.

"Can I...?"

She nods, forehead creasing with the tears he can see welling in her eyes, and emotion crashes over him in a wave as he pulls her close. She trembles in his arms until she relaxes, head falling against his, and he whispers words he doesn't even think about over and over until her exhaustion wins out and her breathing turns heavy and controlled.

"Oh, Ziva." he murmurs, lips brushing against her hair as he speaks. For the first night in oh, not very long, he wonders why the hell he didn't get off that plane.

* * *

It's late when he calls. She's a little merry from the drinks she and McGee and Abby shared, but she's been home for two hours and if someone asked, she'd say she was waiting up for him. Just in case.

"Tony." she starts, smiling down the line.

"Well hey there Miss America," he says, clearly grinning too, and just the sound of his voice warms her. "You feel any different now you're just like the rest of us?"

She laughs, really laughs, and it's not just the alcohol but him, too.  
"Not really. Though Abby made me try a new cocktail and _that_ might be what's making me feel different."

He chuckles at her joke but the mood seems to slow.

"I missed you today."

"I'm sorry, Ziva." he says, sounding like he did in a men's room what feels like a lifetime ago. They've come so far, it feels like. "I said I'd be there and I wasn't and I missed it… I couldn't sleep without calling you."

"Tony, it's not even that late in Mexico."

"You know what I mean."

Yes, she rather thinks she does.

"So tell me about this cocktail," he says, in a light-hearted tone so different from the serious mood just moments before.

She laughs again, attempting to explain the drink but focusing more on the way his voice echoes down the line and the fact that she doesn't quite know why it makes her smile.

* * *

"Can't sleep?" he asks as soon as he opens the door. She only nods. "I figured as much. Come right in, there's beer in the fridge. Movie?"

"Please."  
She shrugs out of her coat and slips off her shoes, and it seems so domestic for a moment that he has to reel his thoughts in, reminding himself that she very nearly had this with another man, and that losing that possibility is why she's here in the first place.

Her socked feet make quiet padding sounds on the floor as she ambles through to his kitchen, and his stomach knots with emotion. He wants this, and he's only just been able to admit that to himself.

He slips in a DVD as she wanders back, handing him a beer before sliding down into the corner of his couch and cradling her own bottle in her hands. He sets the volume on low; he knows neither of them will do much watching tonight.

"I punched him." she says, bluntly, partway through the first scene. He almost spits out his beer.

"What?!"

"I punched him." she repeats. "I walked up to him, and I couldn't stop myself."

A small part of him wants to beam with the pride he can feel rising in his chest, but he knows he must have other priorities tonight, for her.  
"You okay? I mean, really."

His apartment is private, far away from the nosy investigators and constant hum of the bullpen. Far from grieving husbands who offer advice they're not quite entitled to give. Here, they can be honest.

She scrunches her lips in that way that makes his heart race.  
"No. But I am getting there."

And then she lifts her eyes and smiles at him, and god, there's so much warmth in the gesture he can't stop smiling himself. So he reaches out, pulls her to him, and slings an arm round her shoulders.  
He's got some cherishing to do.

* * *

She doesn't point out that his hands are shaking. She's apprehensive too; two hours down and they're still stuck in the damn elevator, dust caked on their palms and clinging to their clothes. The last scraps of rubble finally pushed aside, she turns to her partner, only to find him sitting on the floor, back propped up against the wall. His breathing is fast and labored, and his eyes are drooping as he tries to remain awake.

She wipes the back of her hand over her forehead.  
"I do not think we're getting out of here any time soon, Tony. You can sleep if you like."

He looks up at her slowly, delayed, and it's the type of behavior she'd laugh at in the bullpen, but here, trapped in an elevator only an hour or so after he was out cold from a hit to the head, it's nearing concerning.

"Are you kidding me? I can't sleep here. I can't even breathe properly in here." He's frustrated, she can tell from the deep tone to his rasping voice, and that's another thing worrying her. She's having trouble enough inhaling the thick musty air, she can't imagine what his scarred set of lungs must be feeling like.

"But you are tired?" she asks, bending to sit beside him. Their shoulders touch and she can feel his light trembles transfer to her.

"Oh, yeah I am."  
There's a false laughter to his words that makes her teeth grind.

"Are you scared?" she dares to ask, waiting for the outburst that may just spark.

Instead, his body sags even more, head falling forward as he sighs. She frowns.  
"Yeah I'm scared, Ziva. I don't know if I've ever been more scared. I don't know when we're getting out of here, I don't know who survived, but…" He trails off.

"But?" she prompts, shoulder nudging his.

"But none of that compares to how scared I was that you might not be okay."

He takes away her remaining breath right there, and she's stunned, staring right ahead until she feels the faint sensation of his fingers brushing hers. When she turns to him, her other hand finds his cheek and, dust on dust, she speaks.

"Sleep, Tony. We will get out of here. I will be here when you wake up. But for now you are tired, and there will be questions to answer and people to find when they open these doors."

He smiles faintly, cheek creasing beneath her palm and she smiles back. His eyes drop closed almost instantly and she lets her hand linger before dropping it. The quakes of his body cease in moments.  
She links his lax fingers through hers, rests her head upon his shoulder, and keeps her eyes open. He'll need her, soon.

* * *

Her feet keep moving, over and over, each step taking her further and further away from that room those sheets, _him_. Her head pounds and her heart is racing and she doesn't know where she's going. Her phone is in her hand and by her ear before she notices.

"Ziva? It's late, everything okay?"

No, everything is not okay. She's confused and restless and alone, except that thought makes her hear his words all over again, and _oh god_ what has she done?  
A car speeds past with squealing tires and he must hear them too.

"Why are you outside at… what is it there, 1am?"

"2am. I just left a friend's. Adam's."

"Oh. _Oh_."

She knows just the face he'll be making now. An attempt at acceptance; trying and failing to keep his composure. She wants to apologise but she doesn't quite know why. He doesn't even know who Adam is.

"After the funeral, I… I didn't know what to do. He was there."

He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and it makes her cringe, her skin crawling.  
"It's fine, Ziva, you don't need to—"

She cuts him off, desperate to explain though she doesn't know how to. Her tongue struggles to wrap itself round words she can barely think of.  
"No, Tony, I do. I know what you said and I remember it, but it is… it's like I needed to be reminded, that I was not alone. And you weren't here. But I can't sleep. I _couldn't_ sleep, but with you…"

She can hear him breathing on the other side. Slow and shallow, like he wants to say something but doesn't know what or when.  
"You, um, fly back tomorrow," he starts, sounding calm if a little nervous. She relaxes instantly at his tone, even as another car races past, horn blaring.

"Wait, are you still on the street?"  
His words come out in a rush of breath that seems almost protective.

"Yes."

"Jesus, Ziva, get back to where you're staying rather than standing outside talking to me," He chuckles, and the normalcy of the sound makes her grin, a welcome distraction. "And when you're back home, _here_, we'll… we'll talk." He swallows so loudly she can hear it over the phone.

"We're okay?" she asks.

"We're okay."

"Thank you, Tony."  
For what, she's not sure, but it might just be everything.

"G'night Ziva." he murmurs, his voice soft and hushed and maybe just a little bit loving. Her heart pounds once more.

"Goodnight. I will see you tomorrow."

Another quiet farewell and he's gone.

As she slips her phone into her pocket, she lets out a laugh of disbelief, hand raising up to press against her lips. Because those words felt something like a promise and his voice calmed her nerves and for the first time in years, they might just be going somewhere.  
Taking the first step, she heads back to her place. There's a plane waiting for her tomorrow.

* * *

"Hey." he says, an air of confusion in his voice. He eyes her quickly before pulling the door open more, a smile creeping its way onto his lips.

"Hello."

"Did we have plans? I wasn't expecting you at," he eyes his watch "11pm."

She smiles, brushing a stray hair from her eyes as she stands in the doorway, content with just his presence. He's been cautious with her today, presumably aware of the fact that the day marked two months since Vance's house got shot to shreds and her father died with his sins.

"No. I just thought I would… stop by."

"At 11pm?"  
He folds his arms but there's laughter in his eyes.

"We did not get to speak much today." she gives, shrugging.

"You miss me?"

She rolls her eyes but it's mainly for his benefit, and he all out grins before stepping back and letting her in. The lights are dim and a movie's playing quietly on his TV, a drink warming on the coffee table.

"So what's up?" he asks, once she's out of her coat and leaning against the arm rest of his couch whilst he wanders round the kitchen.

Though she contemplates lying or putting it off, she raises a shoulder and concedes.  
"I keep thinking about Israel."

Something clatters in the refrigerator and his head shoots up, eyes locking with hers. He keeps silent.

"I… I thought after I called you that night, something might… between us." She shakes her head, knowing this was just a bad idea.

But he shuts the fridge and walks right to her, hand reaching out to grasp her fingers. His lips part as if to speak, but she sees him stumble over the words as they catch in his throat, unable to form even a sentence.

"It's been two months, Tony. And I still can't sleep."

His eyes soften, fingers squeezing hers oh so gently.  
"I didn't know if you would be ready. I didn't wanna rush things-"

She places her hand over his lips as she chuckles.  
"We've been waiting for _years_, Tony. But if you want to wait longer, I-"

He tears her hand away and presses his lips to hers, swallowing her words with a few quick movements. She gasps into his mouth, arms sliding round his neck to pull him closer. His hands cup her face and angle her head to his and he moans when her tongue presses forward against his.

They pull back.

"We have work tomorrow." he breathes, words so quiet she can barely hear them over her own ragged breaths.

"I should go."

"I know. I don't want you to."

Her heart strains at the conflict in his voice and she looks up. His eyes meet her and she sees the warring mass of emotions there, from lust to love to anguish to contentment.  
"I will see you tomorrow, Tony."

With one final kiss, she's gone.

* * *

That weekend, she snuffles a little in her sleep, head rolling on her pillow. The cute little noise makes him laugh, smirking against the soft warmth of her stomach, and he feels her breathing change instantly as she's dragged to the surface.

"Tony? Are you still awake?"  
Her voice is hoarse from sleep, more a whisper, and he lets his eyes slide shut at the instant warmth that washes over him just from hearing her speak.

"Yeah. Sorry I woke you up." he says, not moving from his position but raising a hand to rest on the curve of her hip.

"It is fine. But it's also late, you should sleep."

Her fingers find his hair and comb through the strands right by the base of his neck, and her touch is such a comfort he nearly accepts.

"Can't sleep." he murmurs. "Might miss something."  
He sweeps his thumb over her skin and she breathes in suddenly, almost unnoticeable. He smiles.

"Like what?" she asks, her voice peaked with curiosity.

He turns his head and plants a kiss against the flat space of her stomach before sighing out, "You."

Her fingers tug on his hair all of a sudden, pulling him up to look her in the eye. Leaning in, she kisses him so briefly it's almost teasing before lightly dragging him up even higher so his head rests on the pillow, right next to hers.

"I am here, Tony, you will not miss a thing."  
She smiles, placing a hand over his lips briefly and stopping his already-formed argument of, _but_ _he might_.

"You know I love you, right?"  
It just spills out, his brain caught up in the haze of love and lust and that they've finally, _finally_ done this. She's in his arms, in his _bed_, and though he knows he should regret the haste of his words, they just felt right curling off his tongue. Her relaxed smile doesn't seem to indicate she feels any differently about him, either.

"I know. I love you too. Now sleep, Tony, we can talk more in the morning." She kisses him again, longer this time, then slides an arm round his waist, and lets her eyes slip closed. He lets his do the same.

The morning could consist of anything, but his final thoughts before he drifts are of coffee and kisses and quiet smiles, and Ziva wandering round in only his dress shirt. It's a nice image indeed.

* * *

"I can't sleep."

The words seem to echo in the darkness of his bedroom. Rain pelts down and cracks against the window, over and over and over until the sound amplifies in her head like a constant drum beat. It always seems to rain when death hangs over them.

"Me neither." she murmurs, eyes peeling open to look at him. His features are dulled, blurred in the fog of night; all but his eyes which stare at her with almost frightening clarity. He's scared, she thinks.  
An hour ago, standing soaked in the rain right outside his apartment, and wondering whether or not her need for him was greater than his desire to be alone, she felt exactly the same.

His hand reaches for hers and as their fingers lace she swears she can still feel the sticky texture of blood coating her palm, long since rinsed off. Miles away, Gibbs is sleeping in a hospital bed with a hole in his chest and a future sure to read _retirement_.

"But I'm so tired."  
His voice is rough and weary and it's what makes her move closer, arms coming up to wrap round his shoulders. Her fingers brush the hair on the back of his head as his own arms slip round her waist, his face pressing into the curve of her neck. He presses feverish kisses to her skin, and clings to her.

"It will be okay, Tony. I promise. It will all be okay."

They both know she can't promise anything.

Tony sniffs, a shudder running through him.  
"I love you. I love you so much. But I don't know what we're gonna do." His voice is thick with emotion and she pulls back to press a kiss to his lips.

He sighs, eyes blinking slowly.  
"What would I do without you?"

She smiles, but knows he's asking quite seriously.  
"You don't need to worry about that. So don't."

Truthfully, she doesn't know what she'd do without him, either.

"Okay." he murmurs. His arms wrap tighter round her and his head falls back to the bed, shattered.

Their world is sure to change completely and all they have is each other. And yet somehow, that might just be enough.

* * *

"Oh my _god_, I'm so tired." he moans, faking a sob as he pulls his shirt off, rooting round in a drawer for some pajamas.

Ziva merely chuckles and pats his back before returning to her book. A soft sigh can be heard across the room, and despite his exhaustion it makes him smile.

"I'm gonna pass out at work, aren't I?" he asks, sitting next to her on the bed.

"I think you are exaggerating just a little, my love."

He scoffs.  
"No, I am definitely not exaggerating. The work of a team leader is very hard, I have a team to lead. Plus tomorrow's my first day back; I gotta receive congratulations on Lia, maybe get some gifts, tell people how _you're_ doing, share some pictures- is she awake again?"

Sighing only slightly, Ziva nods, picking up on the quiet grizzling noises their daughter is making in her bassinette. His partner marks her page and swings her legs round the side of the bed.  
"I'll get her."

He's grateful as he thinks his legs have gone numb at finally getting a break.

Alia feeds easily once they're situated next to him, drinking with greed. She makes little gurgles in her eagerness as she gulps, eyes wandering as she looks from Ziva to the ceiling and back again. As soon as she unlatches, he reaches out, hands grabbing at the air like a child himself.

"C'mon, Daddy wants some baby time." He takes her from Ziva and lifts her up to his face. She observes him, a little perplexed look on her face.  
"Alia. Al-ee-a." He drags out her name with a grin, planting a brush of a kiss to her chubby little cheek, then brings her to his shoulder. He murmurs quiet little reassurances as he pats her back, then simply cradles her to his still bare chest as she starts to drift back asleep again. Her arms curl up and she tucks her fist under her chin, sighing and relaxing against him.  
She's two weeks old and he loves her more than life itself.

Ziva reads her book again for five minutes, while Tony's content to just sit still and brush his fingers over the downy hair on his daughter's tiny little head. The air is peaceful, and perfect.

"You're awake early tomorrow, Tony, you should put her down again." Though her words make sense, he knows she's only suggesting it.

"Nah. I can't sleep now, anyway."

Ziva raises an eyebrow, smirking at him.  
"You will complain in the morning."

"I know. But I still come home to you two at the end of the day and that's… That's more than I really would've hoped for, not that long ago." His voice catches in his throat a little as his daughter shifts in sleep on his chest. It's something so simple but it still takes his breath away.

"We, um, we did good, yes?"

He laughs, as softly as he can so as not to disturb Alia. She grunts quietly and tightens a fist, but stays breathing perfectly soft across his skin. Smiling at Ziva, he watches as she smiles right back, eyes filled with a love that still stuns him sometimes. All the time.

"Yeah. Yeah Ziva, we did good."


End file.
